


A Tale of Two Journals

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Community: muse_talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-04
Updated: 2008-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's very masculine," I tell her. "It's got a black leather cover."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale of Two Journals

**Author's Note:**

> Season One  
> Written for LJ's Muse_Talking community (1st Person Justin Taylor)  
> Prompt: Diaries

I find Daphne sitting on the brick wall that surrounds the football field, as usual. She's munching half-heartedly on some kind of trail mix rabbit food concoction out of a small plastic bowl. Her parents must be on that body purification thing again.

"Hey," I say as I nudge her over. "Want half of my sandwich?"

"Thank God," she breathes. She dumps the rest of the trail mix onto the ground behind her, and snatches at the proffered peanut butter and jelly. "Real food," she gushes happily around a mouthful of pb&amp;j.

I laugh and take a small bite out of the remaining half, chewing thoughtfully as I watch the players take the field. I don't draw them anymore. That kind of lost its appeal after Chris Hobbs shoved me into the wall and nearly made me piss my pants. Fucking asshole.

"So," Daphne says after she swallows, "any big plans for tonight, besides studying for the math quiz?"

"Fuck studying," I say. "I'm going to--"

"Babylon," she says before I can.

"I haven't seen Brian for three whole days," I complain. It really isn't fair. I've taken two early shifts at the diner just so I could see him when he comes in with the guys before work, and both mornings he's been conspicuously absent. I spent all last night at Woody's drinking water because the dumbass bartender won't serve me underage, and I had to brush off the advances of two really hot guys, and Brian didn't even show up.

"That hardship of your life," Daphne deadpans.

"It's not my fault I've gotten used to having an active sex life," I tell her. "It's Brian's fault. Denying me regular access to his dick now is some kind of abuse or something."

"You should call Social Services," Daphne says solemnly.

"Anyway, the last time we were together, it was _so_ hot." I smile at the memory, and lean forward to brush her shoulder with mine. "We did it on the dining room table."

"Mmmm."

I have to laugh at her noncommittal response. "Like you're not interested in every little detail. You probably go home and write all about it in your diary."

Daphne sets the remainder of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich carefully on a small strip of waxed paper. She wipes her fingers unhurriedly on a swatch of paper towel. And I start to think that maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut. Those kinds of deliberate movements from Daphne are never a good sign.

"First," she says slowly, "believe it or not, Justin, but my life actually doesn't revolve around you. I know, it's a shock. Much as I think you're awesome and I love you and everything, but I actually do have a life of my own."

"I know th--"

"Second," she continues, "if you're saying that because I'm a girl I must write in a diary, let's examine some facts. When we were little, I was the one who wanted to make mud pies after it rained, and _you_ were the one who didn't want to get dirty. I was the one who dangled upside down from the highest monkey bar, and _you_ were the one who wouldn't go higher than the third step. Two years ago, I was the one who took Auto so I'd know how to change a tire and fix a leaky rad when I got my own car, and _you_ were the one who took Art."

"But I wanna be an artist and--"

"I'm the one who goes to the kickboxing classes. You… don't. I mean, honestly, Justin," she sniffs, "if either one of us is going to keep a diary, it's you."

I tear the crust off my half of the sandwich and toss it across the lawn to the birds. Beside me, Daphne delicately picks up the rest of her sandwich and polishes it off in a series of small bites. On the long green field below us, I can hear the players calling out to each other. I fervently hope Chris Hobbs gets a raging case of jock itch.

"It's a journal," I finally mutter.

Daphne cackles. "I knew it!"

"It's very masculine," I tell her. "It's got a black leather cover."

"And do you fill it with tales of the great love story of Justin and Brian?" she teases.

"No!" I say quickly.

She says nothing.

I squint my eyes to watch the players go through a series of complex manoeuvres on the field. Despite my ardent prayers, Hobbs doesn't trip over his own feet.

Daphne is silent.

"Yes," I admit.

She slings an arm comfortably around my shoulder. "Brian _is_ hot," she says, "in a skinny older guy kind of way. If I had a diary--"

"Journal."

"If I had a _journal_," she corrects, "and I was dating Brian Kinney--"

"We're not exactly dating," I amend again.

Daphne removes her arm. "I give up," she sighs.

I smile at her, nudge her with my shoulder until she smiles back. "I don't write down all the gory details," I say. "I just want to remember things. Everybody says that when you get older, you think you remember the way your youth was, but you really don't. I want to make sure that I keep everything straight. Because I know me and Brian going to be together forever."

Daphne looks dubious, but doesn't say a word.

"We will," I insist. "I know it."

We sit quietly then, watching the guys on the field below us toss the ball back and forth.

"Josh Hemingway is kind of hot," Daphne muses.

"His entire back is covered in thick black monkey hair," I tell her, and grin when she grimaces. There are advantages to having gym class with these guys. "It's like a forest back there. That's why he never wears a muscle shirt."

"Ewww."

"Totally," I agree. I watch Josh make a diving lunge for the ball. He misses by a mile. "Nice cock, though."

Daphne giggles. "Hey," she says after a few minutes, "where do you keep your di… journal? That Debbie doesn't strike me as the type to not go snooping, you know what I mean?"

Boy, do I know what she means. I went through about half a dozen hiding places in the first week that I had the thing, switching it out every day when it just didn't feel safe. The back of the closet -- who knows when she'll go fishing around in there? The bottom of the laundry basket -- she could come in to get my dirty clothes at any time. One of my dresser drawers -- she tends to put the clothes away instead of leaving them on top of my bureau like I've repeatedly asked her to. I was rapidly running out of ideas, and I couldn't carry it to school with me. I couldn't imagine what would happen if somebody took it and read it.

Then I found the perfect spot.

"There's this hole," I tell her, "in the box spring of the bed in my room. I have no idea how it got there, but the journal fits almost perfectly. There's just something blocking it from getting all the way in, but it's good enough. Debbie will never find it."

"Something blocking it?" she repeats slowly.

"Yeah. A spring or something."

"Something blocking the hole that has conveniently been made in the box spring," she says.

I narrow my eyes. "Yeah."

"The box spring in the room that used to belong to--"

I look at her. She looks at me.

"Michael!" we say simultaneously.

I grin slyly. "You don't think?"

"I will bet you an entire week of granola and bird seed lunches that we find Michael Novotny's diary in your bed!" she says, laughing.

"I am so not taking that bet," I tell her. I can't stop grinning. If this turns out to be true, I am going to have so much ammunition against Michael when he starts getting haughty. And maaan, who knows what he says about Brian in that thing? This is going to be so awesome. "You wanna come over today after school and go box spring excavating with me?"

"I thought you were going to Babylon?"

I shrug. "We can do both. And you can come with me."

"To Babylon?"

"Why not?" I ask her. "You loved all the hot guys the first time you were there."

"Yeah," she says hesitantly. "But the math quiz. I should study. My parents will flip out if I don't get an A."

The bell rings for our next class -- Biology for her and English for me -- and I quickly stuff the waxed paper and plastic wrap into my brown paper lunch bag before tugging Daphne to her feet. She tucks her books under her arm. "It's up to you," I tell her as we head back into the building.

We stop near the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor, where her Biology class is located. We're getting jostled by everybody moving up and down the stairs, trying to get to class before second bell, but she doesn't seem to notice. She's concentrating on her books.

And then she grins up at me. "Fuck studying," she says. "I'm going diary hunting."

I smile back at her. My best friend. My beautiful, smart best friend. I'm so lucky. "And Babylon?"

She nods vigorously, pigtails bobbing. "I'll tell my mom I'm studying at your place," she says, "and then sleeping over. I need to stop at my place after school to get something to wear."

"No problem," I tell her.

And much as I want to see… no, as much as I _need_ to see Brian tonight, I really won't be surprised if we get a late start to Babylon. I have a feeling the Novotny journal is going to be a real page-turner.


End file.
